About Mayfield
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Small two-parter: First Cuddy visits House at Mayfield; then she and House have an encounter after the events of Known Unknowns.


She saw him before he saw her.

He was sitting in a chair, reading a book (as she got closer, she noted it was Slaughterhouse Five). He looked more or less the same. Skinnier, maybe. His hair was cut very short, almost a buzz cut, and his beard was a bit fuller. Something about the way he sat, with his back slightly hunched, as if protecting himself from some unseen threat—he seemed somehow vulnerable? Or was she projecting?

She walked up to him.

"Hi," she said.

He smiled, stood up.

There was an awkward pause. Should they hug? Kiss? Finally, House kind of pat her on the arm.

"I'm glad you came," he said.

"Me too," she said, looking around.

"I feel strangely nervous," she admitted.

"It's still me, Cuddy," he said. "I haven't gone full One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest just yet."

"It's just that I'm not used to seeing you. .."

"In the loony bin?" he offered.

"I was going to say, out of your element."

"This is my element, for now at least."

They were in a kind of commons area. A few other patients were meeting with family and friends. They seemed relatively normal except for subtle things. One patient kept smoothing her hair, almost obsessively. Another patient had a very noticeable tic. A third was wearing far too many layers of clothing.

"You wanna get some air?" House said.

"That would be great." She popped up quickly, perhaps too quickly. She wanted to spend as little time in this room as possible.

She followed him downstairs. They stepped outside. The grounds were well-manicured, with winding paths, and flower beds and even a basketball court. It almost seemed like a college campus.

They settled on a bench.

"So the reason I asked you to come visit me is, in therapy we're. . .uh. ..supposed to apologize to the people that we've hurt," he said.

"House, you don't have to apologize. . ."

"And you were numbers 1 through 186 on my list," he said, smiling.

She smiled back.

"Actually, I'm sorry, House. I feel like I let you down. You had lost people. . .people you loved. And I think I just assumed everything was okay with you."

"I didn't love my father," House corrected. "Or Amber. It was Wilson who loved her."

"And you love Wilson."

House looked down at the grass. "Yes," he said. "I do."

They were quiet for a second. Then he gave a fond chuckle. "As for Kutner? Let's just say I admired his utter disregard for hospital property."

His eyes got a far away look. He was clearly thinking about the people he had lost.

She surprised herself by taking his hand.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"I wouldn't let you be there for me," he said. "And hey! This is supposed to be my apology. Stop hijacking it!"

"Sorry," she said again, despite herself.

They both laughed.

"I've been a shitty employee," he said. "And a shitty friend, and I royally screwed up whatever . . .well, whatever that thing was between us."

"Neither of us handled that thing particularly well," she said.

"Well, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted."

"Maybe, when I'm out of here. . ." he looked at her expectantly. "Maybe we can try that thing again?"

She didn't know what to say to that. She had been dating Lucas now for over a month. Damn House and his unexpected sincerity and his lousy, lousy timing.

"I. . .I . . ."

He noticed her discomfort and deftly changed the subject.

"It's actually kind of pretty around here, huh?" he said. "I may have to get back on vicodin just to stick around."

"So you're totally clean?" she asked.

"Have been for three months. Nothing stronger than a Zoloft and Buprenorphrine."

He was referencing an anti-depressant and an anti-opiate-dependency med.

"House, I'm just so glad you're getting better," she said.

"Detoxing was not exactly a picnic," he admitted. "Let's just say you haven't lived til you've been chained to a bed to keep from gauging your own eyes out."

"Sound like you made it through hell, House."

"I did. And I'm better now. It was worth it."

Trying to lighten the mood, she reached toward him, rubbed the top of his head.

"I like your rehab hair," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I feel like my dad."

"Sir, yes sir," she said, saluting.

He gave a soft smile, looked at his watch.

"It's getting late. . . And you have a long drive back to Princeton."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

She didn't want to go. She wanted to stay with him like this—the two of them, away from the hospital, like secret agents.

Instead, she stood up.

"So when do you think you're coming home?" she asked.

"Hard to say. When they say I'm ready. . .soon, I hope."

"Yeah, me too. The hospital isn't the same without you. Everyone misses you. . . .I miss you."

"I miss you, too, Cuddy," he said.

This time they didn't hesitate. They hugged. House held her for a long time before finally letting go.

"Goodbye, Cuddy."

"Goodbye, House."

House wandered back upstairs, feeling a little down. He pulled the tattered copy of Slaughterhouse Five out of his back pocket, sat back down to read it.

"Hey."

He looked up. Lydia.

"I didn't know you were here," he said.

"Yeah, visiting Anna," she said, gesturing toward a table where her sister-in-law sat. "I saw you with that pretty woman. Who is she?"

"She's my . . . boss."

"Your boss?" She gave him a skeptical look. "And your lover?"

"No! I. . .what makes you say that?"

"The way you were talking. Your body language. There was a real intimacy there."

House looked out the window, at the bench where he and Cuddy had been sitting only a few minutes ago.

"I guess you could say, she's the one who got away," he said softly.

Lydia's gaze followed his.

"I don't think she's gotten that far," she said.

That night, Cuddy had dinner with Lucas. Some nights, she found him to be amusing, even loveable company. Other nights, the very way he chewed his food got on her nerves. This was one of those nights.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You've been quiet all night."

"Nothing," she said, sipping her wine, trying to smile. "Long day."

"When I called, they told me you had left early," he said.

She looked at him. "Yeah, I. . .had an appointment away from the hospital," she said.

"You went to see him, didn't you?"

She stopped eating.

"Who?" she asked, although she knew that he knew.

"House."

"How on earth would you know that?"

"The perils of dating a private investigator," he shrugged. "I know that he called you the other night."

"Lucas, tapping my phone is completely unacceptable!"

"More like, standing in the next room with my ear against the wall when he called, but I take your point," Lucas said. "It won't happen again."

"Good."

"Why would you go visit him, Lisa?"

"Because he's my friend."

"A friend who wants to have sex with you."

"It's not like that," Cuddy said.

"A friend you want to have sex with?"

"Shut up, Lucas."

"Okay, so why don't you tell me what it is like then?"

She paused. Measured her words.

"House and I have . . .history," she said. "He's always going to be in my life, Lucas. You have to accept that."

"I just don't want him getting between us," Lucas said.

"He won't," Cuddy said. "I promise."

If she said it often enough, maybe she'd start to believe it herself.

Part II

"I thought I'd find you here," Cuddy said, slipping into the barstool next him.

"Where's loverboy?" House asked, taking a swig of his scotch. Not two hours ago, he had discovered Lucas in Cuddy's hotel room. He was still licking his wounds.

"Back in the room, with Rachel. I think they're both asleep."

She gestured for the bartender and ordered a glass of pinot grigio.

"Let me ask you something, Cuddy," House said bitterly. "When you came to visit me that day, at Mayfield, were you already seeing him?"

She had an urge lie, but knew that she couldn't.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"You were afraid it was going to send me over the edge?" he retorted, in a mocking voice. "Make me do something dire?"

"No. I didn't know if it was going anywhere. I wasn't sure it was worth mentioning."

"And now?"

"Now. . .I guess the cat's out of the bag."

He shook his head, gazed into his glass.

"Seriously Cuddy? Lucas?"

"He's a good man, House."

"He's a joke."

"He's. . .resourceful and confident and funny. Well, you already know that, House. He was your friend."

"He was the hired help," House said.

"You liked him," Cuddy protested.

"Yeah, the way you like a stray pet."

"What was I supposed to do, House? Sit around waiting for you? For . . . whatever that thing was between us?"

"You weren't supposed to hook up with . . with . .. Lucas when I was trapped in the loony bin."

He stared at her defiantly.

"You're one to talk!" she said. "Wilson told me that you had a lover at Mayfield!"

House put his head in his hands, clearly contemplating the different ways he was going to murder Wilson in his sleep.

"That was different," he finally said. "I was lonely. . .Unhinged. . . I needed something that was mine and mine alone. To keep me sane."

The word "sane" rattled them both. It had been a little more than six months since his breakdown.

"I don't blame you, House," she said gently. "I'm just saying that you're being a bit hypocritical."

"Everything I did at Mayfield was so that I could become a better man," he said under his breath.

"I know, House," she said. "And you're doing great. I'm proud of you."

"But why do you think I wanted to be a better man?"

"What, you're saying because of me? I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Believe what you want, Cuddy," he said, slapping some money on the table. "I'm outta here."

He stormed up from the bar and headed to the elevators. She followed him.

"House!" she yelled.

Of course, it was easy to catch up.

They were alone in the elevator now.

"House, please don't be mad at me," she said. "I came down here to see you because. . ."

"Because what?" he said, anxiously pressing and re-pressing the button for the 11th floor. Cuddy was on the 23rd floor.

"Because I care about you. . ."

"You have a funny way of showing it," he said.

"How am I supposed to show it?" she said.

She put her hand on his shoulder. He looked down at it accusingly. Then he pushed her up against the elevator wall and kissed her, hard.

They hadn't kissed since that night she'd lost Joy, but everything felt the same: That rush of desire. That sense of being overwhelmed. The feeling that the whole world had receded into some distant, irrelevant background.

"Does Lucas make you feel like this?" he demanded, and kissed her again. She kissed him back, her hands now in his hair and on his face, under the collar of his jacket. The elevator door opened, then closed. They were going up to the 23rd floor now.

"Let's go to your room," she said hoarsely.

"Can't," he said, still kissing her. "Wilson is there. Yours?"

"Can't," she said, reaching under jacket, then his shirt, trying desperately to get to bare skin. "Lucas and Rachel."

Upon saying the name of her daughter and her boyfriend, she snapped out of it.

She stopped kissing him, pushed him off of her.

"That can't happen again," she said.

He gave her a smug look. His lips were smeared with her lipstick.

The door opened on the 23rd floor.

She stepped out into the hall.

"And to answer your question," she said, as the doors began to close. "No, he doesn't make me feel that way."


End file.
